


Change of Season

by kiwoa (Rinoa)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinoa/pseuds/kiwoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really takes in Jonny's outfit for the first time; his jeans are crisp with no tears, and in the unzipped vee of his fleece, Kaner can see the folded collar of a button up shirt snug against Jonny's throat. It doesn't mesh with anything he knows, not the Jonny he plays video games with, not the Jonny who goes out with him and the rest of the guys, and definitely not the Jonny he strips down and sucks kisses onto until they both bruise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toomanyhometowns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns/gifts).



> A belated Alex Day present for the wonderful [S-K](http://staygold-kanerboy.tumblr.com). She asked for "something autumnal and late-October-y ... Maybe with Jon thinking that a flipped-up coat collar and a toque is enough to protect him from recognition and wanting to have semi-public makeouts with Pat, who should be smart enough to resist this but really, really isn't?" Hope this is close enough!

Jonny comes up to get him.

"Everything okay?" Kaner asks, and Jonny frowns.

"Yes?"

"Did you break your phone or something?"

"Kaner," Jonny sighs, "what are you even talking about?"

The alert screen on his phone is still blank, and Jonny's still not waiting in his car, is still standing in front of him, toque pulled low over his forehead and hands wedged awkwardly in the front pockets of his jeans. Kaner shrugs. "Nothing, I guess. Let's go."

"Um." Jonny doesn't budge from the doorway. "You're not wearing that."

Kaner glances down at the murky almost white of his tee and the pilled span of his cut-off sweatpants. "Your place has a dress code now?"

"We're not going to my place," Jonny says.

"Oh. Well." Kaner doesn't have to play interested - the lip-biting and heat flooding his face come naturally. "If we're staying here, I don't need to wear anything."

"Jesus," Jonny groans.

"Yeah?"

" _No_. Put on some fucking clothes; we're going out."

That makes Kaner stop. He really takes in Jonny's outfit for the first time; his jeans are crisp with no tears, and in the unzipped vee of his fleece, Kaner can see the folded collar of a button up shirt snug against Jonny's throat. It doesn't mesh with anything he knows, not the Jonny he plays video games with, not the Jonny who goes out with him and the rest of the guys, and definitely not the Jonny he strips down and sucks kisses onto until they both bruise. "Yeah," Kaner says. "Okay. Come on in - I'll go get dressed."

Things get even weirder in the car. Kaner distracts himself from the sense of impending doom Jonny's driving always gives him by resettling his baseball cap backwards and texting Sharpy. His plans for the day are relaxing at home with the family, so that's a no on the "meeting up the group" possibility. Kaner didn't really think that was happening, anyway - Jonny doesn't dress up for the guys. He doesn't dress up for Kaner either, though, so.

When Kaner looks up from his phone, they're still driving, and he doesn't recognize any of the buildings flying past his window. "Hey," he says, "where are we?"

"North," Jonny says. "I thought we'd get some coffee. Sound good?"

Of course. Should've known this was about Jonny's caffeine addiction. "You know there are like five Starbucks between your place and mine."

Jonny smirks. "This place is better."

Again, of course. Should've known this was about Jonny's _hipster_ caffeine addiction.

It takes a full half hour before Jonny pulls into a nondescript strip mall, one of those places with flimsy plastic signs backed by fluorescent lights and a perpetual wash of cloudy yellow on every surface, and he kills the engine and pops the trunk at the same time. Kaner rolls his eyes as he climbs out of the car, ready to mock Jonny for bringing his own ceramic mug or something equally hippie-lame. Instead, he's greeted with a gray cardigan.

"How are you cold?" Kaner laughs. "It's only sixty-something out."

"For you," Jonny says, and he pushes the balled-up sweater against Kaner's chest.

"No way."

"Don't be stupid," Jonny says. He pushes a little harder, waits for Kaner's fingers to close in well-worn fabric before he lets go with a nod.

"You're being stupid," Kaner grumbles, but he shrugs it on anyway. The cardigan clings to his arms, filmy soft in comparison to his own shirt, and sticks unevenly across his back until Jonny plucks it smooth. Kaner lets him.

Jonny smiles. "Coffee?"

Kaner smiles back even as he shoves at Jonny's face and says, "Put that thing away."

Jonny holds the door open for him, and Kaner snorts and kicks his shin as he walks past. "You are such a weirdo," he whispers when Jonny comes up to stand behind him in line, but when Jonny's hand lands in the small of his back, Kaner leans into it without hesitating.

"Hey," he asks, "what's the plan after this? Should I get something hot or cold?"

"I was thinking we could go for a walk," Jonny says, slow and deliberate, his gaze heavy on Kaner's face.

Kaner swallows. "So, hot."

It's easy when he gets to the counter, Jonny hovering behind him, hand still warming his back, to blurt out both their orders. Jonny's a sucker for simple flavors - things sweet and thick and unspiced - so Kaner asks for a caramel latte before he orders himself the pumpkin spice special touted in pastel chalk on the board outside.

There's a tug on the back of his sweater. "I got this," Jonny says, and Kaner scoffs.

"Don't be stupid. I ordered; I'll pay."

Jonny watches him with eyes that seems bigger than usual, or brighter, or something else equally impossible, and Kaner's cheeks are burning as he pulls out his wallet.

They're quiet as they leave the coffee shop and quiet as they drive to a nearby park. Once they've climbed out of the car, Jonny presses on the small of Kaner's back again; Kaner moves with it, but he glances at Jonny curiously.

"Walking trails," Jonny says. "This way."

Kaner goes. He can't shake off the weird weight in his stomach, though, can't choke down the unfamiliarity of Jonny's gentle pressure and demeanor. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"

Jonny stares at him as if he just spoke Russian. "What?"

"Taking me out alone where you know the area and I don't." Kaner shrugs. "Classic serial killer move."

"Oh my god," Jonny groans, and yeah, _that's_ the Jonny Kaner knows.

"You even dressed me up," Kaner says. "Put me in your clothes. I bet that's part of your ritual."

"Kaner."

"Your murder ritual."

It takes a couple steps before Kaner realizes that Jonny's stopped, and even then, he only notices because his back and his side are abruptly cold. He glances back.

Arms crossed, Jonny asks, "Are you done?"

Kaner tips his head. "Maybe."

Jonny sighs, but he starts walking again, so Kaner counts it as a win.

He has to give Jonny some credit - the path is actually nice. The playground section of the park is a ways off, and there are trees dotted along the walkway, half-dressed in orange and crimson, pointed leaves and even more starkly pointed branches crisp against the clear sky. It's just cold enough to make Kaner's ears and nose sting, and his paper coffee cup seeps tingling heat into his dry palm. He lets his other hand hang empty save for autumn air. With every step, he bumps his knuckles over Jonny's a little more firmly. It's a game he plays often; he likes to see how far he can press before Jonny will tense up, look around for bystanders, tuck his hand in his pocket with too much swiftness to be subtle.

"Likes to" is maybe not the right description. "Has to" fits better.

Soon enough Jonny's shoulders lock, his arm jolting to a stop as his head picks up the swinging. Kaner braces for the pocket maneuver. 

When they knot between Kaner's, Jonny's fingers are cold.

Kaner glances at their surroundings. The trail's not empty; there's an elderly couple a few yards away from them, and a trio of women are bundled up beneath a tree that, at this pace, he and Jonny are going to walk past in less than a minute. One of the women is wearing a Cubs hat. Kaner can't look away from the red C. "What are you doing?"

"Holding your hand?" Jonny clears his throat and squeezes until the pocket of air between their palms collapses. "Holding your hand. Okay?"

"We're in public."

Jonny nods.

"Jesus," Kaner exhales. "I thought you said we weren't... we weren't _this_."

"I changed my mind," Jonny says, and Kaner thought Jonny's fingers were cold, but they're not, they're warm like the coffee he's holding, like the cardigan skimming across the back of his neck, and Kaner doesn't know where the heat blooming over his collarbone is coming from, but it probably belongs to Jonny too.

"Jonny," Kaner says, and the nothing he swallows is thicker than steamed milk. "We're gonna get outed."

Jonny's lips move up and in until his mouth's just a red dash. "If it happens, it happens."

"This... you can't just decide you want to be out without even telling me!"

For the first time that day, Jonny's composure cracks. "You said. Uh. Before, you said you wanted to do this for real," he says. Kaner watches the scars on his chin move as he speaks. 

"I did."

"Do you still-"

"Yes," Kaner cuts in. "But I... have you thought about this? What it means, like, long-term?"

"I'm not saying I want to come out," Jonny says.

Kaner doesn't say anything; he knows Jonny's not done.

"I'm saying... I'm saying I want to go out with you," Jonny says, and he smiles like he can't help it, like the words have full control over his facial muscles. "If we get outed, so be it. It's a price I'm willing to pay."

"Me too," Kaner says. "I'm... yeah. I want that. I'm in."

He hears a thud then, and when he looks down, Jonny's cup is on the pavement and there's latte splattered over his sneakers, but when he opens his mouth to complain, Jonny closes his newly free hand around Kaner's chin and crushes their mouths together. It's hot, almost too hot, like the coffee had been on Kaner's tongue. Jonny is slick against his lips, lapping _past_ his lips, and he wants to grab Jonny's face and feel the coolness of autumn burning away from his stubbled cheeks, but their fingers are still tangled and he's still holding his coffee, so Kaner just tucks his jaw deeper into Jonny's grasp.

"We're gonna end up on Deadspin," Kaner puffs into the kiss, and the words get lost in Jonny's inhale, come back out of Jonny's mouth as, "I don't care."

The last thing Kaner wants to do is pull away, but he does, just enough to laugh and not knock their teeth together. "I don't care either."

There's pink across Jonny's forehead and throat, and his face is unlined aside from the crinkled corners of his eyes. Kaner doesn't think he's ever seen him this relaxed without an orgasm being involved. "Jonny," he chokes.

"Kaner."

He doesn't say what he wants to. He's not even sure what he wants to say, but whatever it is, he doesn't say it. Instead, he tugs on Jonny's hand, pulling their shoulders to knock together, and chirps, "That's littering, doofus."

Jonny stares at him, mouth hanging open and face blotchy, like he's winded on the bench mid-game. "What?"

"Your coffee. I bought that for you too, you fucker. And you ruined my shoes!" Kaner licks his lower lip and tastes caramel. "You're the worst boyfriend."

The hand that had held a paper cup - and then Kaner's chin - socks into Kaner's biceps. " _You're_ the worst," Jonny grunts. It's spoiled by the fact that he's smiling, crooked and almost shy.

"We can work on it," Kaner says, and he's made training plans with Jonny more times than he can count, but he's never looked forward to the process as much as he is now.


End file.
